


Snowed In

by kentuckybarnes (hannah_jpg)



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, I am Unrepentant, tooth aching fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-05
Updated: 2018-10-05
Packaged: 2019-07-25 14:59:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16199900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannah_jpg/pseuds/kentuckybarnes
Summary: A planned holiday is cancelled by a blizzard. Bucky makes the weekend special, anyway.





	Snowed In

A spicy smell begins to draw you out of your deep sleep. It tickles your nose alluringly, and you unconsciously moan a little at the delicious implications as you snuggle deeper into the warm covers. But to no avail. With the heady prospect of food, your stomach starts to rumble greedily, making going back to sleep an impossible test. But you linger a few minutes longer, all the same. You're in charge here. Not your belly.

With a yawn you finally roll over in bed, blinking at the clock on the wall. 8:23 a.m. Not bad. You suppose it's late enough to finally get up.

The air is a little brisk as you swing your legs out of bed, and you reach for the black hoodie on a nearby chair. It smells as good as the food - you breathe in deeply Bucky's luscious smell (you'll probably never get tired of it) and trudge out of the bedroom.

The scent of a promising breakfast is much stronger out here. It leads you straight to the kitchen, where you smile to see Bucky, his back towards you, leaning over the stove with a towel slung over his shoulder. His dark hair is knotted at the back of his neck, and by the spring in his step, you surmise that he's been awake for some time. And evidently doesn't feel the cold that you do - his sleeves are rolled to his arms, and his feet are bare.

"Mornin'," he says, without looking over his shoulder. "Almost done. You should've waited - I would've brought breakfast to you."

"I can't stand having crumbs in the bed, Bucky," you remind him, sliding to sit on one of the barstools, where you can watch Bucky's bum in peace.

"Come on - it's a special occasion."

"I'm sorry - you think that our flight to Barbados getting cancelled for snow is a  _special occasion_?"

Bucky spins around finally, favoring you with a grin that you can't help but laugh at. There's a spatula in his hand, which he waves severely in your direction.

"Being with  _you_  is a special occasion," he says tartly, making your cheeks warm. "I don't need any other excuse to make my girl breakfast in bed."

"What'd you make?" you ask curiously, straining your neck to see.

"French toast, with homemade brioche," Bucky says. He's proud of himself - you can tell. Too proud, probably. There's a smug tilt to his lips.

"Homemade brioche?" you repeat. "Didn't know we had any on hand."

"Made that, too." Bucky turns back to the stove to check how the french toast is cooking. "Couldn't sleep last night."

This makes your smile fade; Bucky's poor sleeping is source of contention for you, but there's little either you or he can do about it. So you opt for the usually-best route: teasing.

"All night long, and you couldn't find the time to do the dishes?" you ask, arching a brow in his direction as you nod towards the piles of dirty plates and bowls on nearly every available surface. The sink, unsurprisingly, is empty.

"Now, now," Bucky says, his voice deepening slightly as he scowls at you. "Don't forget our rule - whoever doesn't cook has to the dishes. And  _I_  am doing the cooking, sweetheart."

"Looks like you've cooked for about six people - and I'm just one person left with all the dishes!" you retort. This makes him laugh; head thrown back, the sound echoing in your little kitchen.

"Well - before you got snippy with me I was going to ask if you want some hot chocolate."

"Sure. But don't dirty anymore dishes than you have to." You give Bucky a wink, which makes his eyes crinkle as he smiles at you. He begins to search around for mugs, and you decide to check out the damage outside.

Standing at the door to the balcony, you flick open the curtains to gaze at New York City. You're on the twentieth floor, so the sweeping of snow is quite dramatic - cars below are engulfed in white, and the sun shines painfully bright on the aftermath of the blizzard. Columns of smoke are coming from various heaters and fireplaces, drifting lazily upwards into the blue sky. Of course,  _now_  the weather is nice.

"Come and eat while breakfast is hot, babe."

You turn away from the doors, sighing as you return to the kitchen. Bucky has plated the food at the bar, with steaming mugs of hot chocolate. Folded napkins and everything. You grin as you sit beside him, as he's waiting patiently for your gushing reaction.

"I can't believe you wasted time folding a disposable napkin," you tease him. "But they're very nice swans, all the time."

"Why, thank you," Bucky preens.

The meal is eaten in comfortable silence. Your toes grow cold, and so you stick them between Bucky's legs for warmth. He doesn't seem to mind - in fact, it's debatable whether he even noticed. He's a very single-minded eater.

Afterwards you clean the dishes, as per the agreement, while Bucky showers. You consider taking one yourself - but the air is just too cold. Even with the heat going, you have no desire but to curl up on the couch in a pile of blankets and a book. Which you do as soon as the chores are done.

Yawning, comfortably full and warm, the cancelled vacation to Barbados mostly forgotten, you snuggle in as many blankets as the couch can hold. It lulls you more than you expect, and soon you're nodding.

"Hey, do we have any - "

Footsteps enter the living room, and your eyes shoot open. Bucky is standing over you, looking amused with his wet hair hanging around his face. He's wearing the same sweatpants - his suitcase was full of clothes for the tropics, anyway.

"What?" you ask defensively as he purses his lips.

"Isn't it a bit early for a nap?"

"I'm not napping. I'm...resting my eyes."

"Sure, sweetheart. Sure."

"Do we have any what?" you ask, a bit testily as you try to sit up straighter.

"Never mind." A grin curling his lips, Bucky leans over to lift up the edge of the blankets. You hiss at the cold air seeping in, but he keeps on smiling as he stretches out beside you. The couch is suddenly very cramped.

"Bucky!" you whine, but his warm arms are already curled around your waist, his head settling on your stomach. Your book is squashed into the cushions, and you frown. "My pages are bent now," you tell him crossly, but Bucky is unrepentant.

"I was going to ask if we have any games or anything else we could do," he says, his warm breath on your belly. "Since we're stuck here until the city starts plowing. But this is a fine idea. Great thinking, sweetheart."

"Thanks," you say dryly. "Want me to read to you, too?"

"That would be  _great_."

You roll your eyes affectionately - he can't see that, of course, but you nudge your elbow around until you're comfortable, wrapping up in a dozen blankets and Bucky, with his nose buried in your middle.

"What're you reading?" he asks. His voice is softer now, and you can see the dark spray of his eyelashes on his cheeks.

"Mansfield Park. I'm only a couple chapters in; shall I start from the beginning?"

"Just catch me up."

The sun disappears behind storm clouds again as you read aloud, warmth growing beneath the blankets despite the shuddering wind shaking the windows. You can smell your shampoo in Bucky's hair (a very nice scent, you think), and soon his soft, rumbling snores make you yawn again.

Unconsciously you rub your toes against his bare feet, draping the book on the back of the couch as you lean your head back on the pillows. You thread your fingers through Bucky's drying hair. He doesn't stir. He needs his sleep, anyway. If you can help somehow, then you can suffer through a little midmorning nap - er, resting your eyes for a bit.

Yes, you can definitely suffer.


End file.
